


Words Lightly Thrown

by clutzycricket



Series: Pathways and Maybes [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Radio, F/M, Gen, Vampires, Werewolves, surprise crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutzycricket/pseuds/clutzycricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark is radio DJ to the supernaturally challenged. Well, accidentally, and it spins a bit out of control.</p><p>She blames Pate from Walmart and Loras Tyrell, even if his brother is nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Lightly Thrown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SecondStarOnTheLeft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/gifts).



> This is a fusion with the Kitty Norville series by Carrie Vaughn, though you don't have to have read them to understand this. At all. (Though you can give them a try!)

The sound booth was Sansa’s own little cocoon, a place where she got to control things. Within station limits, of course, but she has the job and she works the night shift, so she can wear perfect eyeliner and an old hockey shirt Robb gave her ages ago under her blazer with minimal batting of eyelashes.

She’s also known for being a little bit sarcastic with callers, but that seems to be something people like.

So of course, like everything else in Sansa’s life, it had to get out of control.

It started normally enough- Sansa’s kicked off her clearance designer flats and was taking listener calls. This one was a conspiracy nut who somehow manages to strike alarmingly close to home and completely off the mark, saying that vampires are controlling the world.

“All the vampires I know talk about ruling the world, but I’ve never seen one actually doing anything,” Sansa quipped. “Maybe when they stop talking about it.”

The next call was what did it, though, a young-sounding man who was hassled.-sounding and had a familiar air of exhaustion under it “Can I just call bullshit?” he said. Sansa loved the slight delay on her show, it made life easier.

“Please elaborate,” Sansa said, looking at Sam curiously. Her sound guy shrugged and she looked at the screen. Pate, calling as a response to her last caller.

“If vampires really are ruling the world, why am I stuck working the midnight shift at Walmart?” he griped.

“Are you saying you’re a vampire?” Sansa asked, tilting her head. She might get in trouble for this- inviting problems, a reputation, whatever.

But this has that ring of truth to it.

“For the past six months,” he said. “Some jerkoff left me at the side of the road and I didn’t know what happened for a while. Still trying to figure it all out- eternal damnation isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Well, maybe someone will hear this and help you out,” she said, curling her long legs against her chest and trying to figure out how to say this without sounding like a theologist. “But from what I know, it isn’t instant damnation- you choose, every day, what you are, the same as anybody else. You can choose to live like the Hollywood vampires, and get yourself killed, or you can choose to accept that you are still human, just with some new… quirks.”

And with that, the Midnight Hour is born.

~

Well, not instantly. First Harmon Uller, who runs the station, invited her into his office, scared her by delaying, and finally told her that her segment, while unorthodox, was a smash hit, and can she do it again?

Since Sansa was half-afraid she was getting fired, she just nodded and looked over the paperwork, and when asked what she wants for the show’s theme, she paused.

Arya would choose “Bad Moon Rising”, while Robb would say “Werewolves of London”, and Rickon “Enter Sandman” and the lines about the monsters in your head. (Rickon logic is not normal person logic.)

But Bran would probably agree with her choice as she asks if “Howl” by Florence and the Machine might work. If not, she might just ask for “Rhiannon” or something by one of those filk artists Arya loves.

Then, of course, she has to go straight to Jon Umber. Which, Jon is nice.

But her first coherent memory before meeting him was Joffrey with his hands up her skirt, trying to get around her “no”. But Sansa had been dragged to self-defense lessons by Elia Sand and Arya, so she knew enough to get away and start running.

In the woods, on a full moon. It had ended in blood and pain, and restarted with tiny Minna Umber feeding her broth and peeling off bandages she didn’t need anymore.

And had completely trashed her life, in so many ways. (Wylla Manderly had promised to tear out Joffrey’s throat if he came near her again, though, which was… nice of her?)

“The bloodsuckers are pissed,” Greatjon said, and she tried to make herself smaller. (Which was hard, since she was nearly six feet tall.)

“It just happened, but…” she paused and wondered how to tell him that the incident was going to be a weekly show.

“It was popular?” he said, just a bit amused. “And the bastards need to clean house, anyway. Leaving untrained vampires at the side of the road, really…”

“They want me to do it again,” she said, softly. “I’ll be paid for it, and it can go towards the fund.”

He blinked. “Again, as in…?”

“As in, a regular show,” Sansa said. “It would be on Friday nights, and I’d record in advance for the moon, and…”

“Sansa that’s amazing!” Aly Karstark zoomed in, nearly tackling her. “And it would be one of us getting to shape popular ideas. Harry told us about that project for the Paranormal Biology division,” she added, looking unrepentantly at Greatjon. She’d been bitten young by a nasty uncle, who had been killed as a result of his actions. It was part of the reason she could get away with being cheeky. “The information is open to the public, eventually it would end up on Cracked or tumblr or something.”

“4chan,” Sansa shivered.

“Truly hell,” Aly agreed. “And Sansa is wonderfully photogenic.”

Sansa froze. “Sound booth, not a TV screen,” she pointed out.

“Still,” Aly shrugged. “Expect attention if word gets out.”

“Or we could celebrate before Sansa’s token punishment,” Greatjon said, booming with laughter.

She looked up at him nervously.

“You get to tell the bloodsuckers about the show,” he said with a wink.

~

Sansa’s show joined the fringe and the strange radio shows that aired when most normal people were supposed to be asleep, only it was on Fridays, so she had a decent amount of people who normally wouldn’t be listening. (Such as her parents, who were bemused but proud at her babbled tales of syndication.)

She’d righted herself again, “just like a rubber duck” Arya had teased. Her sister had kept giving her novelty rubber ducks- or not-ducks- as presents.

So of course, just when Sansa felt like things got normal for her, Loras Tyrell came into her life.

It started with a call on an otherwise normal show, Sansa laughing at turns and she and Lady-Wolf feeling a simmering rage at the morons who didn’t treat their pack right at others, when Sam gave her a nervous look.

Loras, Denver, PICK UP NOW.

Sam held up nine fingers, then one, twice.

“Hello, welcome to the show. Please tell me you aren’t…”

“I’ve been hired to kill you,” he said, and Sansa looked at Sam because why the hell was he still here?

“Really, I merit my own hitman?” Sansa asked, using her Joffrey-voice. “How fascinating. Did they do it online, or was there a bar…”

“They specified that you had to die on-air,” he added. “Because your show was encouraging people to be monsters.”

“Ah, someone isn’t happy with me airing their dirty laundry,” she said, nodding. “You do realize that my brother the cop is listening to this with his buddies, right?”

She grinned and sat up, plotting her next move while enjoying his silence. She hated dead-air, normally, but that pause was priceless.

“The chances of you making it out of here alive are… slim to just about never,” she added, with a hint of maliciousness. He was trying to kill her, after all.

Sam held up his phone to the glass, Robb’s face on the screen. Hah.

“You could tell me who hired you,” she said, lightly. “It does seem like they tried to set us both up.”

“No,” he said, stubborn.

Lady was pacing in Sansa’s mind, wanting out of the soundbooth, out of Sansa’s skin. She shook her shoulders and kept talking.

“Well, then, do you mind explaining how you got into killing people for a living?” she asked.

“Christ, I don’t… I kill monsters! Maneaters,” he said.

“I don’t feel like a monster,” Sansa said, with a confidence she didn’t feel. This is why she wore patterned tights it was a pain to find and eyeliner to work at the graveyard shift- it was a reminder of her humanity. “And I’m pretty sure I’m not pulling a Hannibal anywhere.”

Sam was staring at her in bemused horror.

“You are a werewolf, though,” Loras said, as if this negated her argument.

“...So are a lot of people?” Sansa said. “Have you listened to the show? At all? Werewolves don’t mean horror movie monsters. Just a disease.”

And then the police came, and Sansa frowned because someone wanted her show killed. They wanted any hope of something like her show cancelled.

Then Robb looked at her, Mom’s big blue eyes wide, and she gulped.

She hadn’t even told her parents about what had happened to her. Then she kind of… blasted it on the radio.

Mom was going to kill her.

~

Robb had been allowed to come with them, but the investigation was apparently the baby of Lieutenant Obara Sand, a tall, stocky woman with a badly set nose and a skeptical look on her face. Sam had come out of his interview shaking, and she fought the instinct to bring him peppermint tea and a sandwich.

“You’re a werewolf,” Lieutenant Sand said skeptically.

“For the past two years,” Sansa agreed. “There was a bad incident up in the woods, and the local pack took me in as a result.” That was suitably vague, she thought, considering the fact that Harry Karstark had only been trying to help.

Lieutenant Sand was also not impressed that Sansa didn’t want to press charges- but Robb, at least, saw her point.

“He’s only a hired gun,” he agreed, flashing her an approving grin. “We need the men with the bank account.”

Aly and Arya were both waiting at her apartment, looking at each other warily.

“Someone tried to kill you,” her sister said, crossing her arms like Mom did.

Sansa sighed. “While I agree that is normally more expected of you or Robb, Isn’t that supposed to mean I’m doing something right?”

~

There is a knock at the door, and a man who smells like roses and a wickedly grinning vampire looking at her.

The vampire waves. She’s seen him with the vampire Family, a stray kept the past few weeks for some bit of politics who flirts outrageously.

“Loras,” the man said, with the same golden-green eyes and a rueful expression, “is never going to do something like that again. If he had, in fact, done anything worth pressing charges.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow at that. “Alright…” She lets them into her place, which is a clash between her own tastes, her budget, and what her landlord will let her get away with.

“Also, he is going to make this non-issue up to you by giving you the name of the non-client,” he continued. “As his lawyer, I agreed it was only fair.”

Sansa tilted her head. “...Really?”

“Betrayal does leave such interesting weaknesses in working relationships, especially when jail time is involved,” the man said. “Also, Emmett Frey is irritating.”

The name of the vampire Master of Denver… really shouldn’t shock her. She looks at the other man, who shrugs elegantly.

“He is an irritating little shit, and I suspect Lady Rohanne Webber- the unofficial Mistress of Washington- sent me here to find a way to oust him,” he said. “Oberyn Martell, and it is enchanting to meet you, little wolf.”

“...Willas Tyrell, I completely forgot to introduce myself, shit,” Willas said, running his hands through his hair.

“Your father was a rosebush, they aren’t much for introductions,” Oberyn said archly, and wasn’t that a story worth hearing?

“So, I don’t suppose Frey mentioned why he needed me dead…” Sansa frowned. “Wait, the loose vampires- the ones who were left to turn on their own. I broadcast that, and I’m making him look weak.”

“Most likely,” Willas hummed. “The history is complicated- Emmett Frey inherited Denver’s Family from his wife, and she was a Lannister, and their history…”

Oberyn didn’t bother hiding his fangs. “A daughter of a mortal noble family dealt in necromancy, and a few of her relatives took to vampirism as a form of shelter from the costs, forming a new Family. Genna was, to the best of my knowledge, the last of that Family. She was finally killed by some conflict five years ago, with no direct progeny. Emmett Frey is holding the city mostly because no one else has bothered to take it yet, and Genna’s control of her vampires was so strong I think it crushed their minds.”

Well, Sansa thought dimly, that did explain why the easiest words to describe vampires to Arya had been “coked-up predators” and “zombie fashion models”. 

“And these new ones wouldn’t be so easy,” Sansa guessed.

Oberyn laughed. “Oh, no. There is a reason that custom dictates that a Family can only have a new recruit every three years or so, extraordinary circumstances permitting,” he said. “They are notoriously difficult to control.”

“So what should I do?” Sansa said, twisting a curl.

“We’ll get you some guests that Frey doesn’t dare interfere with,” Oberyn started.

“No fires,” Willas said tiredly. “Or clowns. I still have nightmares about the clowns.”

“Ellaria still has not forgiven me for the clowns,” Oberyn shrugged. “Possibly because Alysanne Lefford threw us out of Chicago so swiftly. Something about a pair of heels...”

Willas’ expression spoke volumes, and Sansa couldn’t help but laugh a bit. She would have to run it by Greatjon, she knew, but he would undoubtedly give a wary agreement- Frey unravelling at the seams was dangerous, the vampires all doing so was even more so. Frey thought the wolves existed to serve the vampires, and Greatjon took great pleasure in denying him that as much as he could.

~

“Welcome to The Midnight Hour. I’m your host, Sansa Stark, and tonight’s guest is Dr. Rhaenys Targaryen, a forensic anthropologist and vampire. She’s going to answer a lot of our questions, and hopefully tell us a few interesting stories,” Sansa grinned.

The vampire Oberyn had recommended was apparently a few centuries old, a tiny woman not much taller than Arya with a long black braid and a close enough resemblance to Oberyn that Sansa had stared.

“Oberyn is a descendent of one of my mother’s brothers,” Doctor Targaryen supplied, looking quietly sad about it. “Occasionally I’ve wondered about reincarnation- stories do run in circles, when you don’t pay attention to them.”

Story for later.

“So, my first question is, how old are you, exactly?” Sansa asked, grinning.

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. “While it is hardly proper manners, I suppose I opened myself up to it. I was born in the year 1612, in Constantinople. And that is AD, of course. My father was a diplomat for King James Stuart, and my mother a lady of the Ottoman court. My father was recalled in favor of his secretary when my brother was born and my grandfather took ill, and we returned to Scotland, where I lived until I was twenty-three when I was a victim of an unsuccessful attack. I lived a further few years in Paris, until I died and…” she grinned, something sharp and bitter in her tone. “Well, I didn’t quite stay dead, now did I?”

Sansa was bouncing in her seat. This was fascinating. She conducted her interview- Rhaenys and a few other supernaturals had worked on chemistry from that point of view, blending it into forensic chemistry. Some of the stories were entertaining- a man named Rene who had mourned his goatee for a month after an experiment had exploded thanks to a careless coworker, for instance.

Then they took calls.

Some of them- a good amount- were baby vampires who were curious about their conditions. Rhaenys answered kindly, bouncing some of her more localized thoughts off of Sansa- mostly checking on geography, what things were available here, and so forth.

Others were relatives of those who had been turned, and Rhaenys answered those with a twist of the black leather gloves she wore. “No, you are not too little,” she said, voice quiet. “It isn’t that at all,” was what it boiled down to, and Sansa and Lady both curled up in contentment.

Rhaenys also got elegantly, blisteringly angry with one of the callers who called her a devil’s whore and said she had sold her soul, somehow managing to look down her nose at the caller through the microphone.

“I did not ask to be attacked, and spent years living a good, quiet life doing good works afraid I was damned for no sin I committed,” the woman hissed, nails digging into her palms sharply enough Sansa could smell blood. “I died in the dark and in the cold, and in pain, terrified that by by dying, I had sacrificed my life, perhaps my soul, and still failed to save those I love. No one gets to tell me I sold my soul when I never gave my consent.”

Sansa clapped. “And that last bit sums it up in a nutshell- we aren’t monsters unless we choose to be,” she said, trying for supportive.

Of course, then the show wrapped, and Sam peeked his head in. “Sorry about that. You said it was alright to let one or two of the… dissenters through, and they seemed a bit more reasonable in screening, and we’re still feeling out what works for interviews. You handled it really well, though. Considering we have a tumblr trend, that might actually become a popular post.”

Rhaenys sighed, the fight going out of her. “Ach, I should have kept my temper better. But I was turned twice, really, and neither memory is a good one. Not to mention the good people I’ve seen lose themselves to sentiments like that.”

He bobbed his head. “Yeah, I can see how that would get to you. Um, there was one call I wouldn’t let through- they refused to give a name, and the number was blocked, but I kind of did a thing you aren’t allowed to tell Harmon about, and it was local, and he said…” He blushed.

“I won’t bite your head off,” Rhaenys said, crossing her arms to hide the blood on her palms.

“And I won’t tear your throat out,” Sansa said. “The heels would make it a pain.” She wiggled her feet a bit to show him the sky blue heels she found two days ago and was still breaking in.

“He said “tell that scarred bitch to get the fuck out of my city”,” Sam said in a blushing rush, stumbling over the words.

Sansa looked curiously at her, reassessing her as the probable new Mistress of the vampires. She seemed to take it in stride, shrugging as they left. The partially healed scars exposed by her shirt that Frey was referring to were ragged and silver against her skin, and from the little bit she’d heard, they were nothing to the magicked black lines of sorcery on her hands.

Willas had called her the Queen of Scars, lightly and partially as a warning not to ask.

“Are you getting a ride home?” she asked them.

“My girlfriend and her friends,” Sam said, pointing to a battered van. Gilly was waving.

“Rocking the show, wolfgirl!” one of them called. “And nice shade, Doc!”

“Are they sober?” Sansa asked.

“Gilly is,” Sam promised. “Toast is just like that sometimes.”

“And Willas is here,” Rhaenys said, looking bemused.

“He said he wanted to go over some ideas,” Sansa explained, trying not to blush. She always looked like a tomato when she blushed. A tomato on fire.

“Going over ideas, hmmm,” she said, teasingly. So it wasn’t only a superficial resemblance to Oberyn, then.

There was a big vampire in a natty suit waiting, and Rhaenys’ face lit up. “And there is my back-up. Porthos, over here!”

“I can see you, Rhaenys,” he laughed. “And we were listening to you earlier.”

“Oh, dear, I’m going to be on the couch for a week, aren’t I?” she didn’t seem to upset, though. “Really, though, it was exactly what we needed, and if sacrificing his dignity-”

“And facial hair,” Porthos added, coming up quickly.

“And facial hair, is a thing that must happen, well, I was interviewed on radio and and poking my head up to face the last traces of the Lannisters,” she scowled. “I will make it up to him.”

“Oh, no we’re going to let him suffer,” Porthos corrected. “I loved it.” He focused on Sansa, who waved. Werewolves in heels were about as much of a joke as Alys liked to say they were, but Lady’s initial impression was the same as with Rhaenys- closer to humanity than Frey, and not a threat. “Your show is doing a lot a good work.”

“If by good work you mean people trying to kill me, then yes, I’m doing really well,” Sansa said, eyes wide.

“I heard about that,” he said. “And Aramis said he’s got the job at the hospital already.”

“Oh, joy,” Rhaenys said, looking a bit drawn. “Why aren’t you doing this? You’d be much better.”

“You are the sorceress,” he said, looking bemused. “Besides, this way I get to break the rules. You have to enforce them.”

“Only if I get to punish you,” she muttered. “Have you heard from Count Grumpycat?”

“He thinks this is less mad than most of the plans any of us have come up with, but he’s currently in Calgary. His truce with Milady is still holding,” he shrugged. “It’s been, what, five years? Pretty good run.”

“I fully expect a disaster at any moment. Sansa, it’s been lovely meeting you. Tell Willas to get his ass in gear,” she added.

Sansa paused, thought about the names, and swore her way to Willas’ car.

“When,” she said icily, “did you mention you were inviting the Three Musketeers to Denver? And that they were vampires?” She’d written papers on them.

“...Technically, only Porthos and Aramis are,” Willas said. “That is, vampires and living in Denver. Athos’ story is a bit more complicated, and Dumas got a lot wrong.”

“Anything else I should find out about?” she said, slamming her head back against the seat. “Is Dracula a real vampire?”

Willas grinned but didn’t answer, that infuriating bastard.

~

Smalljon had met with Willas, the four vampires, and come out grinning. “Sansa, you may have gotten us rid of that weaselly bastard Frey.”

She waved a hand. “Yay for hope?”

“There’s going to be a fight, though,” he said, and Sansa sighed.

“Never mind, then,” she sighed. She was the worst in the pack for fighting- she was always better with her words then her fists, and she suspected that Arya would have been much happier as a wolf then she was, some days.

“You’re guarding the lawyer,” he said, mildly. “Targaryen asked for you special.”

Well, that… probably wouldn’t end too terribly.

~

Willas was rubbing his bad leg, watching their phones on the table. “It’s probably for the best we left Loras out of this,” he admitted.

“Mmm, he does seem to be a bit impulsive,” Sansa said, raising an eyebrow.

“He always was, though he’s been worse since a job went south a year and a half ago,” Willas admitted, taking off his rumpled suit jacket and laying it on his chair. “There was a nasty creature, and he and his partner was given inaccurate information. Loras was left with scars and burns, and Renly…” Willas looked at her, and Sansa could notice the genuine grief. “Loras was in love with him, and insisted on burying him properly before he let us take care of his wounds.”

Sansa recalled the slightly wild, on-edge look of the pretty boy who had tried to kill her, and she could believe that. “He’s still healing.”

“We don’t know if he ever will,” Willas admitted, rubbing his forehead. He looked terribly vulnerable, not at all the careless, wisecracking man who had taken this whole mess so lightly.

“He might,” Sansa said, crossing her legs and leaning forwards. “I was… it took some time, and my sister and my friends dragged me to some self-defense classes because they thought it would help- which was hilarious, because werewolf, super strength but no idea how to throw a punch. Or…. anything else, for that matter.” She tugged at a dark red curl. “It possibly didn’t help that the instructor had told us to visualize our worst exes before hitting the bags.”

“How bad?” Willas asked, wincing in sympathy.

“...Can a punching bag explode?” Sansa asked. “I had bits in my hair for what felt like weeks.”

Willas laughed, looking lighter.

~

It was over a little before dawn, Wylla and Oberyn crawling to her apartment.

“Hello, little wolf,” Oberyn said. “We won. It was a magnificent battle, and I may use it for a future novel.”

Sansa tilted her head.

“Oberyn writes thrillers,” Willas explained. “Demetrius Breakspear?”

“Oh, my brothers love them!” Sansa said. “Can I get you on the show?”

Oberyn grinned. “Is that a euphemism?”

Willas scowled as Sansa turned red. “No, really. It might be interesting, if you ever wanted to do an interview. Vampire author and all.”

“Mmm, still only been a vampire for ten years- my eldest daughter hasn’t forgiven me completely for it, yet,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll think about it, even if you did break my heart by falling for the rose boy first.”

Sansa looked at Willas.

Willas looked at Sansa.

“Errr…?” she managed, before realizing that Willas was wearing her comforter over his shoulders, looking very sleepy, and she was wearing an old jersey of Robb’s and shorts. It was a very domestic picture, if you didn’t know the context.

“They would look cute, but I think you should give them time,” Wylla decided. “It’s a good start.”

“Thanks,” Willas said, not realizing that Wylla would dedicate an alarming amount of time into managing their lives from that.

Well, Sansa thought, a lawyer was always good. And nice and pretty were a rare combination indeed.

She could do worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this set in the same universe as Rose and Thorn/Musketeers fusion!
> 
> (That... is possibly as dark a tale as Rhaenys makes it sounds, even if Milady finds the irony hilarious.)


End file.
